


Fall to Rise

by MonkeysInPants



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drift Compatibility, Friendship, Giant Robots, Kaiju, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 07:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13608147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonkeysInPants/pseuds/MonkeysInPants
Summary: When Earth was invaded by enormous creatures, humanity created massive machines, Jaegers, to fight back. Piloted in pairs by brave men and women known as Guardians, the Jaegers pushed back this Darkness. Mightiest of all was the Tower, a Super-Jaeger controlled by a trio known as the Vanguard. Victory seemed assured. But now the Tower has fallen, Guardians are dying, and public faith in the Jaeger Service dwindles, while the enemy grows stronger with every wave. With the apocalypse breathing down their necks, the fate of mankind lies with the remaining Vanguard... If they can learn to work together.





	1. The Tower Crumbles

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes significant liberties with both the Pacific Rim universe and the Destiny universe in order to mash them together. I can answer any non-spoilerific questions about the worldbuilding that come up (but I'll be doing my best to fill in the details throughout the story).

> _From before we took our first steps outside the warm embrace of our Mother Earth, humanity asked, “Are we alone?”_
> 
> _We know now that we are not, for better and for worse._
> 
> _The first to touch us were the Hive, your Kaiju. They breached our world from the darkest depths of our own ocean, and with them they brought despair. A terrible gift, and yet with it we became unified in our duress, all become equal as we huddled together in fear of monsters._
> 
> _And in our darkest hour… A Light. A new visitor, a Traveler, here not to harm, but to help. I touched the Traveler and looked into it, even as it looked into me, as all who experience the Drift look into each other. This was the gift the Traveler bought us. A way to become greater than ourselves. A way to fight back the Darkness._
> 
> _The Traveler brought us hope._
> 
> _The Traveler gave us Jaegers._
> 
> _‘I Speak for the Traveler’_
> 
> _Speeches: The Speaker_
> 
> _Iron Temple Memorial Archives_

 

_Year 28 of the Kaiju War_

 

Nine years as an active Guardian makes even an emergence into routine: The alarm goes off. He wakes up. Sleepwear off. Circuitry suit on. Grab an energy bar. Go

Zavala has done it enough times that he’s already halfway to the Drivesuit Room before he’s well and truly awake. He meets Andal on the way, but Ikora is already there when they arrive.

“Running a little slow, are we?” she teases as a technician fits the spinal clamp to her drivesuit.

“I’m getting too old for this,” Andal says, “But I don’t know what Zavala’s excuse is.”

The banter is familiar, and Zavala doesn’t join in despite the jab. He’s never been quick with his words. He’ll leave the verbal battles to the experts and focus on the physical ones. Still, it has him smiling as the techs and their assistant frames close in on him with pieces of battle armor. The helmet goes on last.

Fully kitted, he and Andal join Ikora in the conn-pod. Ikora to the far left, Andal in the center, Zavala to the right.

Step onto the motion rig. Wait for boots to magnetize. Let techs attach the feedback cradle. Grip the hand controls. Go.

A voice sounds from his helmet speakers. “Alright, Tower, you reading me?”

“Loud and clear, Mission Control,” Andal answers.

“Great! Sound off, team.”

“Hunter Vanguard Brask, ready.”

“Warlock Vanguard Rey, ready.”

“Titan Vanguard Forge,” Zavala finishes. “Ready.”

“Fantastic,” Mission Control says. “Initiating Pons system in five, four, three, two-”

Zavala breathes in with the count, then lets as many thoughts as possible slip away on the exhale. A quiet mind makes a stable Drift.

“One.”

With a mental lurch, he ceases to be Zavala alone and becomes part of something more.

The first time Zavala stepped into a Jaeger almost a decade ago and clasped minds with Shaxx in a neural handshake, he felt invincible. Two brains become the single mind behind thousands of tons of state-of-the-art war machine. Beating back waves of Kaiju in Noble Constant, he thought he would never feel more powerful than in those moments.

Then he was selected to pilot the Tower.

Half again the height of an average Jaeger and twice the weight, the Tower is a beast like no other. A super-Jaeger, the only one of its kind. A typical fireteam of two can’t handle the neural load. Instead, the Tower needs three. Being paired in the Constant made Zavala feel invincible. Being part of the Tower makes him feel godly..

Three years of Drifting together, connected mind-to-mind, leaves no surprises between the Vanguard, their thoughts fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. And as the conn-pod slides into its place on the Tower’s neck, they awaken their slumbering titanic body with the ease of rolling out of bed.

Core activated. Visual feeds good. Test range of motion in hands and arms. Take a step. Go.

“It’s a pretty sizable incursion,” Mission Control informs them as they wade into the ocean. “Hitting lower down the coast. Pacific Rush and Midnight Talons will be the first to intercept, but we’re sending you in as support.”

The briefing continues: “Resolution on the energy readings is low until we get someone on scene, but the Mission Analysts are guessing… multiple Acolyte morphs, at least one Knight, and--lucky, lucky you--a good chance of a Wizard.”

The feeling of displeasure washes through all of them. Wizards mean Thralls, and Thralls are a pain to mop up. At only fifty feet tall, they’re rarely a threat to a Jaegers on their own. But they are a potentially deadly distraction from larger Kaiju and their small size and large numbers make it difficult to hunt them all down. Fifty feet of armored alien monstrosity is more than enough to cause disaster if it reaches shore.

Ten minutes into their journey, they get a call: “Tower, this is Pacific Rush. You better get down here quick. One Acolyte is down, and another is injured, but the Knight took off Midnight’s left arm and they aren’t doing so hot. We’re keeping them at bay so far, but we’ve confirmed a Wizard in the area. When it surfaces, well… Godspeed, Tower.”

The Tower doesn’t walk, it runs. And they arrive with the fury of a typhoon. With a boom that puts thunder to shame, several hundred tons of fist slam into the Knight’s face, even as it turns to meet their charge. Thick chitinous plates crack, poisonous glowing blue leaking from the fissures. The Tower’s momentum has hardly slowed when they transform their other hand into a two-pronged fork and plunge it deep into the ruins of the Knight’s face.

“Discharging right capacitors,” Ikora says aloud for the benefit of Mission Control.

The Knight spasms violently as electricity courses through it, steam and smoke pouring from the crevices in its shell. In its death throes it rakes wicked claws across the Tower’s conn-pod. Almost deep enough to penetrate the outer layer of armour, but not quite. Superficial damage.

“Pacific Rush, Midnight Talons, this is the Tower,” Zavala says, taking over as speaker for the Vanguard after a split second of deliberation. _You have the most commanding voice_ , from Andal. “We need you to fall back one mile and spread out. We can handle the remaining Kaiju, but you need to catch any Thralls that might slip past us.”

Even as they speak, the remaining Acolyte surges towards them. It’s even easier to dispatch than the Knight, a single massive fist curling around its head and clenching. They all feel satisfaction at the subsequent _crunch_. Only blue pulp remains when the Tower unclenches its hand and turns to face the open ocean.

“Roger that,” Pacific Rush replies.

“Got it,” Midnight Talons says, the speaking Guardian’s voice rough.

The ocean is disturbingly calm as the smaller Jaegers wade away. Waves lap against the Tower’s waist as they wait.

“Stay alert,” Mission Control says. “We’re down to one signal, and it’s basically right on top of you-”

The water next to them explodes upward in a flurry of thick flapping membranes as the Wizard surfaces, shrieking its piercing war cry. Wizards can’t fly, despite what the first Guardians to encounter one had claimed, but they can leap startling distances for something their size. It hooks its claws into the gouges decorating the Tower’s conn-pod, and its fleshy ‘robes’ curl around them. Within the membranous folds, they can feel the writhing of a horde of Thralls.

As one, the Vanguard grit their teeth. It’s difficult to get leverage with the Wizard wrapped around their arms. The membranes stretch as the Tower’s arms flex, and will inevitably tearing, but they don’t have the time to wait. Capitalizing on the damage from the Knight, the Wizard digs deeper into the shell of the conn-pod. Alarms flash.

_External armour breached._

“Venting coolant!” Andal shouts, hand twitching across the conn-pod’s holo-interface.

Supercooled mist blasts from the Tower’s abdominal vents, and elastic membranes become instantly brittle. With a hard flex, they shatter, and the Tower’s arms are free. The Wizard screams and falls away. Before it can disappear beneath the water, the Tower lunges forward, a long blade sliding out of their wrist. A quick swipe is all it takes to separate the Wizard’s head from its body.

They can feel the Thralls clinging to their armor and they begin casually catching and crushing them, but all the major threats have been neutralized. They feel victorious.Turning his head, Zavala smiles at his partners. Andal grins back and winks. Beyond him, Ikora’s lips curl up but she doesn’t glance over.

Suddenly, she frowns. Then her eyes widen, and a feeling of shock grips them all. Something is wrong.

There’s a sickly blue glow to Zavala’s right. A Thrall. Only not a Thrall. There’s something wrong with it. It’s head is swollen and throbbing with poisonous light. It’s on the conn-pod. Right over the deep gouges left by the Knight and Wizard. Separated from Zavala by only a meter of air and several layers of weakened armor plating.

“What is _that_?”

The Tower’s hand reaches up.

The Thrall’s deformed head swells.

“Andal, get back in your harness!”

It can’t possibly see through the Tower’s hull, but Zavala swears the Thrall is staring right at him. He’s frozen.

The Tower is too slow.

Andal suddenly next to him. Between him and the Thrall.

Fear.

The swollen head bursts.

_Fire._

Pain.

Nothing.

 

* * *

 

_Three months later_

 

Zavala’s eyes snapped open. His heart was pounding, cold sweat beading on his pale blue skin. He gasped for breath. _The Tower, the Tower was burning, Andal-!_

No. He wasn’t in the Tower. He was in a harness, he was in a conn-pod, but it wasn’t the Tower’s. He was on the left, not the right. Ikora wasn’t there. Andal- No, he wasn’t even in a conn-pod. Not a real one. This was a Combat Training Simulator. He was at the Vladivostok Shatterdome. He was safe.

“We're done.”

Still re-adjusting to reality after the vividness of his Drift-enhanced memory, the deep voice caught Zavala off guard. Looking to his right, he watched Shaxx extricate himself from the simulator’s feedback cradle and rig.

“Yes,” Zavala said. His mouth was still dry from remembered fear, and he swallowed several times before continuing, “I suppose a rest would be good. Tomorrow, then?”

Shaxx halted in the middle of pulling off his helmet. His movements were slow and deliberate as he resumed, and he stared into the faceplate of the helmet for a long moment before turning to Zavala.. “You misunderstand. We’re _done_. For good.”

Zavala was too stunned to respond immediately, jaw hanging open as Shaxx turned on his heel and walked out of the simulator. Jolting out of his daze, he hurried to disconnect from his own harness and chased after his first co-pilot. “What do you mean we're done? I'm not combat ready yet!”

“No,” Shaxx agreed. He was already surrounded by frames, the gangly robots pulling off his battle armour plate by plate. It was easy for him to speak over their heads. “And I don't think you will be. Not any time soon.”

Zavala felt himself reeling, like someone had pulled a rug out from under him. He waved away his own helpers. Unsuiting could wait. “I can’t believe this. You're giving up?”

Shaxx’s mouth sank into a deep frown. “Zavala, we’ve been through much together. You’re like a brother to me. I always remember our time with the Noble Constant fondly.”

“Then why are you giving up on me?!” He was breathing heavily again. Why would Shaxx do this? Why would he try to take this from him? He needed to get back to the fight. He needed to be in a Jaeger again, needed to be strong-

The boom of Shaxx’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Because I refuse to assist you in endlessly reliving your loss!”

Startled to silence, Zavala could only stare at his friend, mouth hanging open for a counter-argument that never came.

“We've run through the simulation so many times, Zavala,” Shaxx said, voice lowering into a soft rumble. “We’ve been running it since the doctors let you out of bed. Every time is the same. You chase the R.A.B.I.T. straight back to Andal’s death and you drag me with you and each time I feel it tear your wound wide open. Over and over I've felt part of you _die_.”

Zavala's mouth closed slowly and he swallowed heavily. He turned his head, unable to face his friend’s heavy gaze. But he didn’t need to look to feel Shaxx’s pain. They’d Drifted too many times to keep emotions like that from each other.

“Tell me, Zavala,” Shaxx said slowly, somehow both gentle and accusing. “Are you doing this because you truly want to fight by my side again, or is it that you think you deserve the pain?”

_That_ broke his silent spell, and his back straightened with righteous rage. “Of course I want to fight! My duty is to protect the people. I have always done what was needed of me to defend humanity, and right now humanity needs Jaeger pilots! Guardians are out there dying while I’m stuck here-” Doing what? Failing Drift after Drift? Forcing his grief on a dear friend? Refusing to heal? He… didn’t know to finish that sentence.

Shaxx remained unphased by his outburst. “Have you considered that what humanity needs from you isn't just another Guardian in a Jaeger?”

“What else?” Zavala said, suddenly feeling incredibly tired. The battle armour weighed on him, like it was made of lead, rather than polycarbonate, and he gestured for the assistant frames to approach. “What else can I do?”

“You can lead,” Shaxx said firmly. “We're losing the old guard. The Iron Lords are almost all gone, the remainder retired. The original Vanguard are gone as well. None of our remaining leadership in the Jaeger Service have actually been Guardians. We need veteran leaders. People with actual combat experience with Kaiju.”

“Like me,” Zavala said, voice soft.

“You're a good leader. You’ve taken charge of combat operations in the field before. You care about people, you would die for them, and your fellow Guardians know that. They respect you. They look up to you.” Shaxx’s hands came down heavily on Zavala's shoulders. “The Tower may have fallen, but you're still standing, Zavala. You’re still Vanguard. You’re still an inspiration. So inspire them! _Lead_ them.”

“And what about you?” Zavala asked, searching for a flaw in his friend's argument. “What will you do without a co-pilot?”

Shaxx gave a loud snort. “The same thing I've been doing since the Vanguard snapped you up! Shatterdomes are always in need of a skilled Fightmaster.”

Zavala's lips twitched, but didn't quite form a smile. “I've heard rumours that you're the terror of the Crucible.”

“Hah!” Shaxx gave him a hearty slap on the back, now free of armour. “I _am_ the Crucible!”

Sobering slightly, the mountainous man leaned down to look Zavala straight in the eye. “So what do you say, time to leave the past behind?”

For a moment there was a tightness in Zavala’s chest. His reluctance was like hooks in his skin, pulling him back. The past was Andal. The past was a gaping wound in his mind where his friend once fit. He didn’t want to let go. He knew he couldn’t forget. But perhaps, for the greater good, he could put his pain aside. Put away the fear, and weakness, and desire for retribution.

He exhaled, long and slow, letting his emotions slip away with his breath and leave his mind blank. Giving Shaxx a terse nod, he replied, “The past is past. We fight for the future.”

 

* * *

 

_One week later_

 

It was bittersweet, looking out over the launch bay. The Vladivostok Shatterdome had been his home for years. He had made many good memories here, even if they were now overshadowed by grief. He found he wasn't sad to leave, not really. It would be good for him to be in a new place with a new position. But he still felt the need to engage in this bit of nostalgia. To say his goodbyes.

Footsteps sounded behind him and he didn't need to turn to know who it was.

“Ikora,” he greeted, feeling his spirits rise as she took a place at the railing beside him. “I'm glad to see you've come finally up for air. How goes the research?”

“I've been busy deciphering Osiris’s notes,” she said. “He left a lot unexplained when he…”

“Went AWOL?”

“...Was discouraged from continuing his research.”

Zavala held back a soft snort. “He always said a mind like yours was wasted in a Jaeger, didn't he?”

A wry smile twisted Ikora’s lips. “He said the same about himself.”

Zavala opened his mouth to say more, but thought better of it. Ikora’s old mentor remained a raw subject for both of them. With a soft cough, he changed topic. “I'm glad you came to see me. I've received a new placement.”

Ikora’s face bloomed into a genuine smile. “I'm glad to hear it! You need something to keep you occupied.”

_And not dwelling on the incident,_ passed silently between them.

“Well, I'm certain being Commander of the Hong Kong Shatterdome will keep me on my toes,” he said, returning his own crooked smile.

“Commander!” Ikora’s face brightened further. “Congratulations! I can't think of any Guardian in the Service more worthy.”

“Thank you,” he accepted with a humble nod. “It seems that being both a veteran of the lauded Vanguard and the beloved son of a decorated Iron Lord opens many doors for you.”

“You say that like you don't deserve it,” Ikora said, nudging him with an elbow.

“I'm merely saying I had help,” he said. It was good, to be here side-by-side with Ikora. Almost like old times, even with an empty space yawning between them. They weren't whole, but together they were more complete.

He shifted his hand closer to Ikora’s on the railing and she settled her own hand over top of it. They shared a moment of comfortable silence, just watching the everyday hustle of the hangar.

Zavala was the one to break the silence. “Ikora… I know you have work here, but I wanted to ask if you'd come with me. I'm sure the Hong Kong Shatterdome can accommodate all your projects…”

He trailed off as he watched Ikora’s expression slowly fall, the air of peace between them draining away. “What is it?”

“Zavala, I…” she paused for a moment, clearly considering her words. “I actually came up here to say goodbye. I'm leaving.”

An icy chill crawled up Zavala's spine, and he went very, very still. “Leaving.”

“Yes-”

“Where?”

Ikora let out a heavy breath at the interruption. “I'm not sure yet, but there's… something I have to find. I have a lead, but-”

Zavala's throat was tight. Something was boiling up inside him. Something dark. Leaving. Ikora was leaving. Leaving him alone. Alone with... _Andal’s face. The whites of his eyes. Fear._ His grip tightened on the railing. When he spoke, his voice was cold. “So another Warlock Vanguard is abandoning their duty. You're more like your mentor than I realized.”

Back straightening, Ikora brought the full force of her disapproving glare to bear on Zavala. “For the sake of our friendship and because I know you're hurting, I'm going to ignore that.”

Her hand clenched over his, just on the edge of being painful, cutting off anything he might have said before she was finished speaking. “The Tower is no more, not with Andal gone, and without it there is no reason for me to remain here. My _duty_ calls me elsewhere.”

Zavala's eyes slid shut. He wanted to pull away, but even with his temper hot, he couldn't bear to shrug off her touch. The dark and selfish thing inside him wanted to scream, _wasn't he reason enough?_

“ _Zavala,_ ” Ikora said, voice imploring. “Listen to me, _feel_ me. I will be back. But something is coming and I don't know how to stop it. And… Andal left something for me. A task.”

His hand twitched, emotion flooding through him, a twisted knot of grief and jealousy and guilt. Andal left nothing for him. But why would he even deserve anything Andal might have left?

Ikora’s hand curled around his. “You _are_ needed here, Zavala. With the Jaeger Service. Andal knew that, should anything happen to him.”

A hitch of breath that was almost a sob rose up in his chest, taking him by surprise. “Must the Vanguard fall apart entirely?”

“Sometimes things must be torn down completely before they can be built up again.” Soft lips touched Zavala's forehead, and he opened his eyes, luminous blue meeting rich hazel. “And I'll always be with you, Zavala, even when I'm not beside you. We’re together in the Drift.”

Zavala breathed deep, recalling so many hours spent with Ikora and Andal as she walked them through meditations. He exhaled, and let the emotions flow out with it. He had to put his insecurities away. Focus on the now. “I wish you luck, then. May you find what you're looking for with haste.”

“Thank you,” Ikora said, gracing him with a small smile. Letting go of his hand, she pulled a tablet from her jacket. “I'm leaving this with you.”

Palming it on, Zavala frowned at the eclectic list of dates and numbers. “What is it?”

“Osiris's ‘prophecies’,” she answered, with only a hint of wryness. “Predictions of all future Kaiju emergences and their relative severity for the next two years.”

“Only two?” he muttered, brow pinched as he scrolled through the dates.

“Yes,” Ikora said. “Because the last date on that list is when Osiris predicted the world will end.”

Zavala's brows shot up, attention snapping from the tablet to his former co-pilot.

“Of course, he could be wrong,” she said.

“But you don't believe he is.”

“Osiris was a man of many flaws, Zavala,” she said, “But he had a brilliant mind and deep dedication to scientific accuracy. I don't fully understand his calculations yet, but from what I've deciphered they seem sound.”

She reached out to tap the top of the tablet. “Keep track of how accurate those predictions are for me.”

Ikora stepped away from the railing and Zavala followed. They clasped arms and touched their foreheads together. Neither of them said goodbye out loud. They didn't need to. And they would see each other again.

But as Ikora walked away, she paused to look over her shoulder. “And Zavala?”

“Yes?”

“Good luck to you, too.”


	2. Gathering Bricks

 

> _Video Title: Kaiju baby????_
> 
> _Video Description: WTF!!!! her mom had that kaiju blood cough!!!!!!_
> 
> _[Camera frames a hospital bassinet containing an infant. Frame zooms in on infant. The infant is sleeping and appears pale blue in complexion. An adult hand with light caucasian skin moves into the frame, holding it next to the infant’s face. Frame zooms in on infant’s head. A faint glow is visible beneath the skin.]_
> 
> _First known recording of an Awoken_
> 
> _Unknown videographer_
> 
> _Videos: ‘Baby Blues Crisis’_
> 
> _Iron Temple Memorial Archives_

 

_Year 29 of the Kaiju War_

 

The of the Wall of Life’s construction was nothing like propaganda tried to paint it. There were no smiling faces cheerfully building the future together out of shining metal and gleaming white concrete. Reality was a bleak forest of crisscrossing beams stretching 150 meters high at its tallest points and roughly half a kilometre deep. Reality was the constant squeal and chug of overworked industrial printers churning out prefab segments to be lifted into place by equally overworked cranes. Reality was a clear cut deadzone stretching from horizon to horizon, half construction site, half slum, and all of it caked in grime. Reality was a safety record that would have any other project shut down immediately. Reality was that the majority of labourers on the Wall were Exos.

A kaleidoscope of glowing eyes followed Ikora as she strode through the sprawling maze of workers’ barracks. The air was heavy with wariness, bordering on suspicion, expressed in furtive glances and whispered conversation as she passed. Not, she thought, because she was human--there were scattered organic eyes among the lights, a few of them with the luminous irises characteristic of those who, like Zavala, were born with caeruleosis. All of them watched her just as carefully.

No, she suspected the mistrust was a function of her manner of dress and the way she carried herself. Every neatly pressed line of Ikora’s coat and trousers, the shine of every button, the stiff posture and confident march; all of it screamed ‘well-off’ and ‘official’. And these people, Ikora thought, taking note of the familiar ‘C.B.’ embroidered on each worker's coveralls, had every reason to distrust the rich and powerful.

Even so, she interacted with them where she could, whenever she found someone who seemed more curious than hostile--perhaps those who recognized her from her sparse public appearances without her drivesuit helmet--and passed to them a name. It was her latest lead in a search that had lasted months, for a man who’d done his best to vanish from history.

Well, he'd just have to deal with being dragged back into it, because Ikora Rey had a mission, and failure was not a viable option. If he was here, she would find him. And she wasn't leaving without him.

To her surprise, he was the one who found her.

She'd just finished speaking with a foreman--a large doughy fellow with a kind voice but little of use to say. (“Things are pretty transient around here, y’know? Clovis Bray-” A pause to spit on the ground. “-shuffles them Exos from site to site, and they expect us to use whatever hands we got available. Don't make it easy to keep a roster. You know they keep ‘em all as barcodes in their system? Like they ain't people with names and families.”). When she turned to move on, he was there.

“What’s a pretty face like yours doing in a dump like this?”

Blue eyes, yellow throat lights, horn, heavy coat, air of smug confidence? Andal had provided a description, but she hardly needed it. The man propped casually against the nearest barracks was as familiar to her as if they'd personally met.

_An Exo gesticulating wildly as he tells a story. The words blended into nothing by time, but the feelings still strong. Amusement. Fondness. Warmth._

The ghost of Andal’s memory made the corner of her mouth twitch with a suppressed smile even as the still-healing wound in her heart and mind throbbed.

“Mr. ‘Ace Brask’, I presume?”

“Depends on who's asking,” the Exo said. He let Ikora get as far as opening her mouth to speak before interrupting. “Nah, I know who you are. The guys who said some exec lady was looking for me didn't. Now that I see you, I think I see why. You're much more attractive in person, did you know that?” He formed a square with his fingers and lifted them up to frame Ikora’s face. “Camera just doesn't do you justice.”

Ikora waited until he was done, expression even and softened by a quirk of her lips that wasn't quite a smile. Andal had warned her about that smart mouth. “I make them film my bad side,” she said. “I break fewer hearts that way.”

The Exo didn't laugh but something in his posture changed, from practised casual to a more natural slouch.

“Okay, being serious now.” The man wiped a hand over his face as if physically putting on a different expression. With an Exo's limited ability to emote, his serious face was almost identical to his joking face. “What _does_ the Jaeger Program’s very own Warlock Vanguard Jr. want with a Wall of Life scrub like me?”

“Please, call me Ikora Rey,” she said. “I was never as into the callsigns and showmanship as some of my predecessors. And I believe, Mr. ‘Brask’, that we have a friend in common.”

The overly casual demeanor was back, the Exo examining the tips of his fingers for dirt beneath nonexistent fingernails. “Don't see how we could, Miz Rey. You n’ me don't exactly run in the same circles.” He flipped a hand at Ikora’s clothing, then waved it at their grim surroundings.

“But you did once. Fourteen years ago you attended the Jaeger Academy, alongside the man whose surname you're currently borrowing.”

The man went still and silent, leaving Ikora waiting for a response. She was considering another verbal prod when he straightened up and pushed away from the wall.

“Look, I've got a lot of work to do. Gotta pay back The Man for this shiny new robot body, right?” He walked backward away from her, levelling a pair of finger guns in her direction. “So while it's been swell meeting a real celeb, I'm gonna skedaddle. Hey, maybe send me an autograph? It'll make the guys and gals here real jealous.”

With that he spun on his heel and strolled away. Ikora closed her eyes and let out a deep breath through her nose. Then she used the tone that could make even Osiris snap to attention and listen. “ _Cayde._ ”

His real name stopped the Exo in his tracks as effectively as if she'd materialized a wall in his path. The silence stretched again, but he took no further steps. Finally, “I know he's dead.”

A slight crease formed between Ikora’s brows. Andal? The Service had yet to release official confirmation of his death.

As if reading her mind, Cayde turned halfway to look at her again. “I mean, it was pretty easy to puzzle out. There hasn't been a publicized Tower launch in, what, a year? One of you had to be dead.” His gaze dropped, staring at the ground. “It certainly wasn't Big, Blue, and Photogenic. They televised him taking over in Hong Kong. And it obviously wasn't you, so…” Glowing blue eyes fixed on Ikora’s again. “So if you're here to tell me my best friend got pulped by a giant space bug then hey! Job complete.”

Even for an Exo, Cayde had an amazing poker face. If Ikora were less perceptive she might have missed how much that hurt him to say. The pain echoed in the Andal-shaped hole in her mind.

“That isn't why I'm here,” Ikora said, keeping her own voice steady. “Not primarily.”

The long sigh Cayde let out was remarkably convincing for a man who had neither lungs nor the need to breathe. “You're here to take me back.”

“Essentially, yes,” Ikora said with a slight nod.

“No.” Cayde faced her fully, both hands up with index fingers raised. “You know why? Because to go _back_ to something you have to have actually _been_ there in the first place.” His fingers splayed out, arms sweeping wide in an exaggerated ‘what can you do?’ motion. “Unlike you, I'm not a Guardian. Never have been.”

“You almost were, once.”

“Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.”

“You still could be,” Ikora said, her demeanor placid.

“Except you need Drift compatibility to be a Guardian, and guess how many times I managed a successful Drift?” Cayde's fingers curled into a circle. “A big, fat _zero_.”

“Fourteen years ago. People change. You've changed.” The look Cayde gave her screamed ‘talk about an understatement’ as he lifted a metal brow pointedly. “Can it hurt to try?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Ikora knew it even before Cayde's eyes dimmed slightly and he sidled back a pace. His voice was low and dark when he spoke, “Yes it can.”

“Cayde-” Ikora started, determined to fix her misstep.

“Listen, Miz Rey, I got a Wall to build, so why don't you run along and do whatever Vanguard do when they can't fight Kaiju.”

A slight frown rumpled her calm façade. “You don't believe in this Wall.”

“You're right, I don't!” Cayde said, voice incongruously cheerful. He pointed a finger at her. “And nobody else believes in Jaegers anymore! So guess what? We're all fucked.”

Ikora opened her mouth to speak only to be cut off by a raised hand and a sharp ‘ah, ah!’

“I'm not finished. Me? I'm all I've got left. So if it's all the same to you I'd like to keep me around as long as possible. You go ahead and die on the front lines with Big Blue and your little gang of Guardians. I'll be here chilling in the world's biggest cage until the apocalypse comes knocking on my door.”

Ikora waited until she was sure he was finished speaking. Then she said, “Alright.”

“So don't think you can- Wait, what?”

“I said ‘alright’,” Ikora repeated. “You've made your disinterest clear, and I will respect your decision.”

Cayde's seemed thoroughly disarmed, whatever tirade he'd been forming dying away. His eyes flicked back and forth over her face as if some hidden meaning to her words was encrypted in her features.

“Just like that,” he said, apparently failing to find what he was searching for.

“Just like that,” Ikora said with a hint of a smile. “We're both busy people, Cayde. You have a Wall to build and I have a frontline to die on. Why waste time arguing when you've already decided? A Jaeger can't have an unwilling pilot.”

“... Huh.” Cayde looked her up and down appraisingly. Then, after a pause, he shoved a hand at her. “Hey, no hard feelings, right?”

“No hard feelings,” Ikora said, giving his hand a firm shake. “One last piece of business, though.”

Slipping a hand into her coat pocket, she pulled out a small envelope and held it out to Cayde. “It's from Andal. Addressed to you.”

Silent, Cayde took it from her with the delicacy of someone handling fine china. When he finally spoke, there was a hint of static in his voice. “Thanks.”

“It was good to meet you, Cayde,” Ikora said. “Andal had fond memories of you.”

Then she left.

 _I came this far because of you, Andal,_ she thought. _I trust you to make it work._

She had almost made it to her rental car at the edge of the construction site when she heard the pound of heavy feet behind her, accompanied by a ‘Hey, wait up!’ as Cayde quickly caught up to her.

Ikora let out a sigh of relief.

 

* * *

 

“Director Hideo, please. You must convince the Consensus to reinvest in the Jaeger program.”

“Commander Forge,” the politician said, face painted wide across the video screen projected over Zavala's office window. “You know I hold you in the highest esteem. You and your father have given much to protect mankind. It's why I nominated you to take charge of the final Shatterdome.”

“We need more than a single Shatterdome,” Zavala argued. “We need the Jaeger Academy open again! I don't have the resources…”

“I'm sorry, Commander Forge, but the Consensus no longer considers the Jaeger program to be a sound investment. The cost of it is simply too high.”

“And what of the cost in lives, when there are no more Guardians or Jaegers to protect our planet?”

Hideo shook his head. “I could have made that argument a year, even a month ago, but with the recent success of the Wall of Life repelling a Kaiju attack, it can no longer be made.”

“It successfully held off attack _until my Guardians arrived_ ,” Zavala said, trying to keep his voice from rising into a shout. “Do you think it would hold indefinitely without a counter-offense?”

“It's not about what I think, Commander,” Hideo said, dodging the question. “It's about what the Consensus thinks. And the Consensus thinks that the Wall, along with standard military action, is enough.”

Zavala closed his eyes, silently cursing the hubris and greed of politicians. He looked back up at Hideo. “Please, at least two Shatterdomes. One for each hemisphere. I can't possibly cover the entire Pacific from a single base.”

“I'm sorry, Commander. It took a great deal of networking and string-pulling just to convince the Consensus to continue funding a single Shatterdome until the Wall is complete. I cannot overplay my hand.”

“Of course,” Zavala said, sounding far more agreeable than he felt.

“Now, if you have no other business to discuss, I'm sure you have much work to do, managing an entire base.”

“Goodbye, Director Hideo.”

The video feed cut out, the holoscreen disappearing. In its place, the view of the Shatterdome’s main hangar was revealed. It was a chaotic bustle of activity down below, but only because they were receiving equipment and Jaegers from the closure of the last two active bases. Soon the rush of people would die down to a trickle. There weren't even enough Jaegers left to fill all the docks.

When he had accepted his position as Commander for the Hong Kong Shatterdome, he hadn't expected that within the year he would be Commander of the only remaining Shatterdome. Perhaps he should have seen it coming. Even before the Tower fell, the Academy had closed its doors. Before he'd even become Titan Vanguard, several Shatterdomes had been decommissioned, having lost too many Jaegers to justify their cost of operation.

Placing his hands on his desk, Zavala let his head hang and regulated his breathing. Long inhale, slow exhale. Let the emotions go. But the usual meditation had little effect on the warring anger and despair churning in his belly. His only concession to his emotions was to slam a fist against the desk top.

The end of the world might be around the corner, and the Consensus had decided it would be better that humanity run and hide than try and fight. Zavala couldn't afford to give up. Guardians depended on him. He was rock. Their unshakable foundation. But with so much going against them, even his iron resolve had begun to crumble.

Zavala gritted his teeth and took another deep breath, pushing his own emotions aside. He didn't have time for doubt. Opening his eyes, he noticed a blinking light out of the corner of his eye. A notification on his private handheld. Frowning, he picked up the small device and tapped the alert.

The message was short and to the point: _Coming home. ETA 20 minutes._

It was from Ikora.

Zavala felt the weight of mountains lift from his shoulders.

 

* * *

 

“You're one minute early,” Zavala shouted over the roar of the helicopter as Ikora Rey hurried towards him.

“Forty-two seconds!” Ikora corrected. “Clearly my powers of estimation have gotten rusty in my absence.”

By the Traveler, it was good to hear her voice without a screen and countless miles between them. For a moment Zavala wavered between professionalism and camaraderie. But this was Ikora. His friend. His co-pilot. The woman he'd shared a mind with. Spreading his arms wide for her, Ikora didn't hesitate to step in and hug him tight.

“It's so good to see you again, Zavala,” she said, and he could feel her echoing back his own relief. “I'm sorry I took so long.”

He held the embrace for as long as seemed appropriate. Then he took her shoulders and pushed her back gently to get a good look at her. She looked worn. Older. But happy. He imagined he looked much the same to her. Who knew less than a year could weigh so heavily. He said, “I hope you found what you were looking for.”

“I found _who_ I was looking for,” she corrected, then glanced over her shoulder. He followed her gaze to a figure he hadn't noticed slip out of the helicopter with her.

The stranger was fairly tall, taller than Ikora, but their form was otherwise obscured by a heavy knee-length coat. Their legs were similarly hidden in tall leather boots, with just a hint of denim peeking through between boot top and coat bottom. With their hood up and head turned away to take in the view from the helipad, Zavala couldn't make out their face at all.

It was odd garb for a day that was neither wet nor cold, the bright sun bringing a pleasant warmth to the tarmac.

“Cayde,” Ikora said, drawing the stranger's attention, “Meet Commander Zavala Forge.”

“Hey,” the stranger--Cayde--said as he faced them. The shadows of the deep hood couldn't hide the glow of mechanical eyes, or the flicker of yellow in his throat as he spoke. “Not everyday you get to meet the literal poster boy for the Jaeger Service. I feel giddy.”

Ikora shot Cayde a look, then turned her attention back to Zavala, her brow furrowing slightly at his continued silence and blank expression.

That the man was an Exo was a surprise. He'd never met one in person. But what hit him like a blow from Shaxx to the belly was the realization that he _knew_ this man. Not from his own memory but-

_Cayde sitting, backlit by the window he's staring out of. He looks sad. Forlorn._

_Unfamiliar. Shiny new metal, glossy mesh, silicone, lights. Machine. But…_

_Familiar. The way he slouches in the window seat. His swagger. The way he talks, even though the voice isn't quite the same. The warmth when they're together._

_“I know you miss my pretty face, but staring harder ain't going to bring it back.” Humor. Defensive._

_The feel of words in Zavala's throat, but Andal’s voice, “Hey, at least the horn is cute.”_

Overtaken by the second-hand memory, Zavala didn't notice Cayde had stretched out a hand for him to shake until Ikora tapped his arm, jolting him back to reality. Too late. Cayde was already drawing back, face unreadable--how did Andal read that face so well--and he flicked his coat collar instead.

“What's up, Baby Blue?” Cayde asked. “Never seen an Exo before?”

Heat flooded Zavala, washing away the icy numbness that had set in with the harsh and sudden reminder of Andal Brask. _Baby Blue?_ It was an old tabloid nickname for children like Zavala, from before caeruleosis became the politically correct term for their condition. It wasn't a slur as such--though there were other words that certainly were--but it was, to put it mildly, _impolite._

“ _Excuse me_?” he demanded, features threatening to form a scowl.

“Y’know, Exos? Robots? Kind of like frames but we used to be human? I mean, I guess you've been locked up in this pretty little castle here, but we're not exactly uncommon-”

“ _Cayde,_ ” Ikora said, warning in her tone.

At the same moment Zavala, turned to her and said, “Ikora, may I speak with you privately?”

Ikora looked at Zavala. Zavala looked at Ikora. Cayde glanced back and forth between them, hands held up defensively.

Finally, Ikora sighed. “Let's move this to your office, Zavala. We have much to talk about.”


	3. Unsteady Foundations

 

> _“-for Grand Larceny in the Third Degree, you are hereby sentenced to serve seven years in prison, with possibility of parole. Furthermore-”_
> 
> _[Someone talking too quietly to be distinguishable by the recording equipment._
> 
> _People muttering in the background.]_
> 
> _“It has been brought to my attention that it is now required by law for me to make the following offer: should the defendant so choose, he may choose to serve any portion of his sentence in service to the Jaeger program, under sponsorship of the Clovis Bray Corporation-”_
> 
> _[The courtroom bursts into raised speech, drowning out the rest of the judge's words.]_
> 
> _“Order, I will have order!”_
> 
> _Audio Recordings: First Introduction of IRP in Court_
> 
> _Clovis Bray: Inmate Recruitment Program_
> 
> _Iron Temple Memorial Archives_

 

_Year 29 - Two Months to Doomsday_

“Who is he and what is he doing on my base?”

Zavala hardly waited for the heavy door to slam shut before demanding answers. Ikora, however, took her time in granting them, striding over to the wide windows that covered the back wall of Zavala's office. Her ‘guest’ had been left to loiter on the catwalk outside with strict orders to stay put.

“He's an old friend of Andal’s,” Ikora said. She didn't look at Zavala, captivated by the sprawl of the Jaeger hangar. People and frames scurried to and fro like so many ants, hard at work.

“ _That_ much I'm aware of,” Zavala said. The resurgence of one of Andal’s memories still hurt, an ache that had no physical component but pained him all the same. He'd avoided such flashbacks for almost a year, and here was a living reminder from Andal’s past to dredge up memories better left untouched.

_Andal’s face, eyes wide. Fear._

“How many do we have left?” Ikora asked, still watching the hangar.

The subject change caught him off guard, anchoring Zavala back in the here and now before he could sink deeper into the past. He opened his mouth, ready to demand a return to the original topic, but a glance from Ikora had him pressing his lips into a line instead. Her eyes promised answers to his questions, but implored him to answer hers first.

A year since their last Drift, and he could still read her so well. No doubt Ikora knew _his_ mind even better. She'd always been the most perceptive of their triad in that respect.

“Very few,” he started. “Only five veteran pairs. Two rookie teams. There are several additional Jaegers in the Museum that could likely be returned to working order if need be but…”

Zavala closed his eyes. They'd lost so many Guardians already, some of whom he'd personally sent to their end. “We can't spare the resources. Not when none of our remaining recruits are combat ready.”

He shook his head and looked up at Ikora. She'd moved closer, hand hovering above his elbow.

“It takes every Jaeger we have to fight off each new wave now. Seven Jaegers at a time, and still the damage they take is dangerously high. And the waves keep coming faster. We can hardly complete repairs on all the Jaegers before the next one hits.” He turned his back on the window to stare at the files laid out across his desk. One for every Guardian and Guardian hopeful currently in the Service. “If I send inexperienced recruits out now they’ll be nothing more than target practice for the Kaiju.”

“We need more Guardians,” Ikora said softly, a statement rather than a question.

“They won't reopen the Academy,” Zavala said. “And even if they did, recruitment was at an all time low when the Academy’s doors closed. There would be even fewer applicants now.”

Zavala moved back to the window, watching a mixed group of Guardians and recruits help move crates of supplies, under the stern gaze of their Fightmaster. He could almost hear Shaxx yelling encouragements from all the way up here. “I respect my recruits. It takes bravery to want to pilot a Jaeger. They are all strong, determined. They work hard.”

“But they don't have the knack for it,” Ikora finished for him.

“Being able to Drift successfully is a rare talent. They all have it, and they could be decent Guardians, perhaps even good ones with enough experience. But we've already lost too many _good_ Guardians.” Zavala's voice went rough as he spoke. _Just good._

_“We make a good team,” Andal says as they disconnect from The Tower's harnesses._

_“We work well together,” Zavala agrees, still full of the rush of another victory._

_“Yeah, but imagine,” Andal says, “what the Tower could do with a_ great _team.”_

“Great teams are hard to come by,” Ikora said, and Zavala wondered if they were recalling the same memory.

“I try to have hope,” Zavala said, “But we're holding on by the skin of our teeth. We won't survive something worse.”

Ikora’s face went tight. “Osiris's predictions-”

“All correct, down to the day,” Zavala said. “Which means that whatever is coming, we have little more than two months to prepare for it.”

Silence stretched between them, and Zavala could feel the despair he'd tried his hardest to keep at bay seeping out of his bones. It was a burden he hated to share with Ikora, but one he wasn't sure he could keep bearing alone.

Ikora placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I know I haven't been here, Zavala. But I'm here now. And we Drift to share the load.”

A surprising amount of tension eased out of him, more than he realized he'd been carrying. The Vanguard might still be broken, but with Ikora at his side he was closer to being whole. He rested his own hand on hers, and for a long moment just enjoyed Ikora’s company.

Then he straightened, all business once again. “Now then, who is he?”

Ikora drew back her hand slowly after giving a parting squeeze. “A trained Jaeger pilot.”

Zavala frowned. “I know every Iron Lord and Guardian who has ever touched a Jaeger. There has never been an Exo Guardian.” His frown deepened. “Nor has any Exo ever enlisted in the Academy.”

“He wasn't an Exo during his training,” Ikora said. “And he never became a Guardian. But the potential was there, to be a good one. Perhaps even a great one.”

The answer was evasive. Ikora was stepping carefully around providing a direct answer, which meant that whatever information she had, she knew he wasn't going to like it.

“ _Who_ is he?”

“Cayde-”

“I know his name, that doesn't explain-”

Ikora shot him a sharp look for interrupting her. “Cayde _Reynolds.”_

Zavala opened his mouth to tell her that still explained nothing, but a twinge of recognition stopped him. Reynolds. Cayde Reynolds. Where had he heard that name before-?

Memory hit him, and he reeled as if struck. “ _What?!_ ”

Far too casually, Ikora slipped a tablet from her coat, tapping gently on its surface. “His Academy records were locked from public access after his… incident, but his scores are still some of the highest across most categories-”

“Ikora,” Zavala said, disbelief stark in his voice. “Cayde Reynolds was a _criminal._ ”

“Recruited through Clovis Bray’s Inmate Sponsorship Program, yes,” Ikora said, eyes darting up from the tablet to meet Zavala's. “As were several great Guardians.”

“That is _not_ -!” Realizing his voice is raised, Zavala takes several deep breath and starts over with a more reserved tone. Strained, but quieter. “I don't care what he did before he was recruited. What matters is his… his _incident,_ as you put it.”

In contrast, Ikora remained almost infuriatingly calm. How many times had she rehearsed this conversation before arriving at the Shatterdome? “The incident where he borrowed a Jaeger.”

“He _stole_ a Jaeger, Ikora!” Zavala and his fellow recruits had never learned _how_ Recruit Reynolds had managed it, but the man and his stunt were notorious among all the Academy’s students.

“He brought it back,” Ikora said. “As far as he could.”

“Is that supposed to make it better?” Zavala snapped. He started pacing, needing some way to vent his rising frustration. “They told us about him as a _warning_ in the Academy, to stress the importance of Drifting with a partner. Even as a student, I never understood how someone could be so egotistical as to think he could pilot a Jaeger solo! How anyone could think they'd survive-”

He stopped short, reminded of one very, very important fact. “Ikora, that Cayde Reynolds is _dead_.”

“Officially, yes,” Ikora said, gaze steady. “He was declared dead on the scene when they pulled him out of that Jaeger. Unofficially… Clovis Bray stepped in.”

The puzzle pieces snapped together. “They made him an Exo.”

“Yes,” Ikora said, a slight frown dragging at her lips. “Though how they salvaged a functional neural map after almost 90% neural fry is quite the mystery.”

Zavala physically recoiled as his right arm gave a hard sympathetic throb of pain.

_“17% neural fry.”_

_The doctor spins the three-dimensional model of Zavala's nervous system. The nerves in his right arm, shoulder, and part of his chest are outlined in red._

_“You should regain full use of your arm with a a regimen of physical therapy, but first we'll need to excise and replace these major nerves…”_

Zavala didn't truly remember how he and Ikora had gotten the Tower back to shore without Andal. But he did remember burning. Ikora burning. Burning together. Grief had come later, but for what had seemed like an eternity at the time there had only been enough room for agony. It had taken over a month to relearn how to use his right arm. On bad days his fingers still had tremors. On very bad days he was ripped from sleep by the phantom pains. And that was only 17%.

He couldn't begin to imagine what 90% neural fry felt like.

Rubbing his right arm absently, he shot Ikora a look. “Is this an attempt to garner sympathy for a man who brought that on himself?”

Because it may have been working.

Ikora gave him a flat look back. “I don't think Cayde needs your sympathy. However, given that experience, followed by over a decade working on the Wall… I am suggesting that he may have learned a little humility.”

Zavala crossed his arms, fingers strumming restlessly against his bicep. “He still put lives at risk-- _including his own_ ,” he added before Ikora could interject, “And endangered billions of dollars in military hardware. He's a liability.”

“Andal didn't think so.”

_Andal’s body, between him and the Thrall._

Eyes closing, Zavala said, “Andal didn't always make the soundest decisions.”

“ _Zavala_ ,” Ikora said, grabbing his arm. “You can't still think saving you was a mistake!”

He refused to look at her. He couldn't honestly say he should have died instead of Andal. He and Ikora had argued the topic exhaustively when he'd been at his lowest, weak and confined to a hospital bed. But the guilt… the guilt still told him he hadn't deserved the sacrifice.

Ikora’s grip tightened and he could feel her eyes drilling into the side of his head, trying to mine his thoughts. But a ghost of a Drift wasn't strong enough to read another's mind. All she had was a sense of his emotions and the words he said aloud.

And he didn't want to talk about it.

“Cayde Reynolds,” Zavala said. “Why should I let him stay on my base? I need reasons beyond ‘because Andal wanted it that way’.”

“Zavala,” Ikora said, still squeezing his arm. He finally looked at her, her jaw set stubbornly, her eyes blazing with questions he didn't want to answer.

“Need I remind you that you have a guest waiting outside?” he said, his own expression stony.

It was a silent battle of wills. An unstoppable force facing down an immovable object through the medium of simple glares. Zavala was almost surprised when Ikora was the one to give in.

“Fine,” she said, shoving her tablet roughly against his chest. She withdrew quickly, leaving him to fumble with the device to keep it from dropping to the ground. “But we _are_ going to have a talk about you.”

“Later,” Zavala conceded, fully planning to avoid that conversation for as long as possible. He began scrolling through Reynolds’s--admittedly rather impressive--Academy statistics.

“ _Later_ ,” Ikora confirmed. Her determination to pursue the topic was clear, and Zavala idly considered allowing Reynolds to stay purely to keep her sharp mind distracted.

However…

“His compatibility scores are abysmal.”

For a long moment, he thought Ikora might refuse to follow his shift in topic. Then she let out a long sigh, tension receding from her shoulders. She said, “Whereas I have the broadest compatibility rating on record. If there's anyone that can teach him to Drift successfully, it's me.”

Zavala hummed, nodding his agreement. There was no denying Ikora’s expertise with Drifting. “There's never been an Exo recruit before. Can they even Drift with a human?”

“Well, no one's tried it before,” Ikora said, “but there's a first time for everything. I suspect it won't be a problem. The process for transferring human minds into Exo frames is based on the Pons system, after all.”

Zavala stroked his chin consideringly, still eying the man's stats. He was certain many of those combat ratings fit within the Academy’s official top ten rankings. The reflex speeds might even be record breakers.

“His behaviour…” Zavala said.

“I take full responsibility for keeping him in line,” Ikora said. “I promise, his training won't interfere with regular base operations.”

“I _will_ have him removed from the Shatterdome is he shows signs of his past… delinquency.”

Ikora’s lips twitched slightly, just the ghost of a smile. “Of course, Commander.”

Zavala wrinkled his nose. “That sounds… strange, coming from you.”

Her smile solidified.

With a heavy sigh, Zavala settled into his desk chair. “Well then, he'll be needing security clearance, an assigned room, standard dress…”

The sound of typing filled the office as he began shooting off emails. The familiar routine of paperwork was soothing, but something about the whole situation still niggled at him. His hands paused, poised over the keyboard, trying to solve what was bothering him.

“He can't replace Andal,” Zavala said, the words falling from his lips before he could process them.

Ikora’s hand settled on his shoulder. “No-one has ever wanted to replace Andal, except perhaps Andal.” A pause. She let her hand drop. “But if I can resurrect the Tower, I will.”

Zavala's fingers twitched. He returned to typing. It wasn't until he finished his current email that he spoke. “I hope your search for a third goes more quickly than the search for your second.”

Ikora’s hesitation was tangible. But all she said was, “I'm sure it will be.”

The silence between them was heavy as Zavala continued to work. He could feel Ikora at his back, likely continuing to take in the view. Finally, he pushed away from his desk.

“Alright,” he said. “Let's give your new student the news.”

The door opened onto an empty catwalk.

Zavala’s brows slowly rose as he turned to look at Ikora.

Ikora just sighed.

 

* * *

 

Cayde was bored. And when Cayde was bored, he sometimes made choices that other people would say were bad ones. Frankly he thought other people had a really low bar for what they considered a bad choice.

For example: pissing off Ikora’s boss-slash-buddy within the first ten seconds of meeting him? Pretty bad choice.

Deciding that standing on the catwalk railing was slightly more entertaining than standing on the floor? Pfft, whatever. He was, what, a couple hundred feet up at most? He'd been at the top of the Wall without safeties plenty of times. This was nothing.

But as they often did, other people had different opinions than him. From below he heard, “Hey you, get the hell down from there, you're gonna break your neck!”

Squinting down, he could make out a figure standing on a jacked up scissor lift with a megaphone. The concern was awfully sweet of them but the sentiment was wasted on him.

He didn't need a megaphone of his own to crank his volume to match. He called back, “That's okay, I can just get a new chassis!”

There was a pause, and he wondered if his would-be saviour had given up already. Then: “Are you an Exo?”

“No ma’am, I am an ambulatory toaster!”

Heh, it was kind of funny, but from here he could see the crowd below slowly giving the gal with the bullhorn more and more space.

“Come down and talk with me!”

Well, that sounded way more interesting than what he was doing at the moment, but… he cast a glance at Zavala's office door. Still closed.

“I don't think Big Blue would like that very much!”

“Well, shit, just blame it on me! We're friends,it'll be fine.”

Hm. Well, if someone else was taking responsibility… He wasn't exactly going to go _far_ , anyway _._ Just down into the hangar! With a chaperone. They could probably see him from the window if they looked. No harm, no foul.

Without further thought, Cayde stepped off the railing into open air. Twisting as he fell, he caught the edge of the catwalk, judged his next drop, and plummeted to catch the railing of the next catwalk down. Repeat. Catch the next railing, brace feet on the edge of the walk, launch.

Executing a perfect flip, he proceeded to undershoot the scissor lift, catching his foot on the railing, and ended up gracefully scrabbling at the lift platform in order to not go tumbling head first onto the tarmac.

Fantastic.

“That was amazing!” Miss Megaphone said, laughing. He couldn't see her from his current angle, but he could feel her grab onto his wrists to help haul him upwards.

After a short struggle, Cayde was finally upright, sitting awkwardly on the lift platform. “Hey thanks,” he said, brushing off his coat.

“Not a problem.” A hand shoved itself into his vision, and he followed the arm up to a brightly smiling face, framed by blonde hair and a red bandana. “Amanda. Amanda Holliday. You know, you're actually lighter than I expected!”

“Huh.” Cayde stared at her for a moment, then clasped her hand and gave it a firm shake. “Cayde. I've never actually had someone say that to me? I always seem to be heftier than they expect.”

“Guess that's ‘cause most people don't work with machines much,” Amanda said, moving back to lean on the railing. “Oh! Uh, not that I'm saying you're a machine. Or not _just_ a machine, you're-”

“Hey, don't sweat it,” Cayde said, climbing to his feet. He spread his arms. “After all, aren't we all living machines?” He paused for effect. “... Nah, I'm kidding with you. Kind of. Anyway, I am definitely a metal man full of pulleys and gears.”

Amanda let out a soft _pffft_ of suppressed laughter. “Haha, pulleys? Like hell you got pulleys in you. Even frames are more advanced than that. Hey, can I see your hand?”

Okay, so, this was awkward, but Cayde was actually pretty charmed by such a purely positive reaction to meeting an Exo. Most of the humans he met away from the Wall were, well. Dubious at best. Hostile at worst.

“Uh, yeah sure,” he said, pulling off a glove and holding his hand out. “You guys really don't get a lot of Exos around here, do you?”

“You're the first I've seen around,” Amanda said. She took hold of his hand, staring at it with the sort of joy children show towards birthday presents. “Ahh, this is amazing!”

“Why thank you.”

Her grip shifted to his wrist and she slammed her hand on the lift controls, lowering the platform. “Here, I gotta show you something!”

“Uh-” Cayde gave a backward glance towards the office above, but he didn't really have time to say anything before he was being dragged off the lift and across the hangar.

The view from down here was a lot different than the one from above. From here he could see the people, grease stains and sweat and all. Up close he could see the tracks and ruts worn into the floor by time and heavy equipment. He could see the rust spots and the spots where rust had been scraped away and painted over. The Shatterdome had certainly seen better days.

It almost felt homey, except for all the people wearing skin.

After several close calls with forklifts and people's toes, Amanda's wild ride came to a stop, square in front of the towering form of a docked Jaeger.

“Look!” she said, waving an excited hand at the colossal combat machine.

“Uh, yeah,” Cayde said. “Very nice Jaeger. I see you've got several of them here. Less than I expected, but-”

“No, no,” Amanda said, giving him a light punch in the shoulder like they were already old friends. She yanked up on the bare hand she had yet to release, holding it up towards the Jaeger. “ _Look._ ”

“What am I supposed to-” Then he saw it. “Oh. Oh hey. Wow.”

He stared at his hand, he stared at the Jaeger’s hand. Amanda finally let go, and he turned his wrist back and forth, comparing the two. “Yeah, okay, that is uncanny.”

Amanda was smiling like the cat who got the canary. “All the other Jaegers here got different hand designs than that, but Boreal Defiant here is pretty much a perfect match.”

She sure was. Other than the whole ultra-extreme size difference, his hand was pretty much identical to the Jaeger’s.

“Exos are Jaeger-tech,” Amanda said, tone somewhere between smug and delighted. “Just in miniature.”

“You know, I technically knew that?” Cayde said. “But I never really _knew_ that. Until this moment.”

The full force of Amanda's beaming smile was enough to make him turn to look at her. She was practically vibrating in place.

“That's not all,” she said.

 

* * *

 

By the time Ikora and Zavala tracked down Cayde, Amanda had found a mobile holo-display, garnered a small crowd of curious mechanics, and convinced the Exo to hike his shirt up to his armpits. She was currently in the middle of comparing the glowing circle embedded in his sternum with a 3D model of a Jaeger power core.

Cayde was the first one to notice the newcomers, and he almost felt guilty about the exasperated look on Ikora’s face. Almost. Instead he just waved over the crowd's heads from his seat on a work table.

“Do you not have work to do,” Zavala said, stopping behind the mechanics.

The gathered men and women scattered with the speed and grace of cockroaches when a light's flipped on. Except for Amanda, who was far too busy shining a pen light into his core to notice rumbly-voiced base commanders.

Cayde decided to help her out a little. “Ikora, Commander! You here for the Comparative Anatomy of Jaegers and Exos class?”

He wasn't sure how he'd expected Amanda to react to the sudden appearance of her big blue boss-slash-friend, but the young woman snapping straight and letting out a delighted squeal had definitely not been in the cards.

“Ikora!” Amanda said, spinning around and practically throwing herself at the other woman. So not a reaction to Zavala then. “I haven't seen you in forever!”

“Huh,” Cayde said, mumbling his thoughts out loud. “Did not realize they knew each other.”

The sound of a throat clearing brought his attention to Zavala, the Commander having stepped closer. To give the gals some space for their reunion or to put Cayde in easy smacking distance? Only time would tell.

“Mister Reynolds. Was there some part of the command ‘stay here’ that was difficult to understand?” Zavala asked. There was surprisingly little bite in his tone despite the words. He sounded more resigned than anything.

“In my defense,” Cayde said, “I was bot-napped?” Then after a brief pause, “Also it's ‘Cayde’.”

If Zavala acknowledged the name correction he didn't show it. He was busy watching Amanda chat excitedly to a smiling Ikora. Cayde was busy watching Zavala, and it was fascinating to see the man's face soften from stony to something fond and wistful. “Amanda Holliday can be a bit… forceful when she's found something to spark her interest.”

Brilliant blue eyes shifted back to Cayde, and the Exo had to mute a disappointed sigh when Zavala's face hardened again. “Or someone.”

“Well, I am pretty fascinating,” Cayde said, leaning back on his hands. The motion drew the Commander’s eyes, and he was amused to watch them land on his core then trail down his abs. ‘Abs’. Whatever. People were always fascinated by bare Exos. Even the ones that hated them.

“Hey, eyes up here,” he said, tugging his shirt back into place now that the impromptu lecture was over.

Zavala actually _flinched_ , eyes snapping up to Cayde's so fast they had the Exo wondering if eyeballs could get whiplash. He froze with his shirt midway over his belly, gaping at the other man.

Holy shit, was the Commander _actually flustered?_

Further evidence for that theory: Zavala promptly turned on his heel and proceeded to ignore Cayde.

“Ikora, I have duties to attend to,” he said. “When you're done catching up with Miss Holliday, please show Mister Reynolds his new accommodations.”

With that, the Commander strode off with a purpose. Cayde would bet money that purpose was ‘get as far away from him as possible’, but he'd probably never get Zavala to admit it.

Both women looked startled at the sudden departure, then turned to look at Cayde. He finished tugging down his shirt and raised his hands and shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. Seriously, he did nothing wrong.

“Dammit,” Amanda said. “I actually need to talk to him.” She turned back to Ikora. “Hey, you’re tired, let's catch up tomorrow, huh?”

“Of course,” Ikora said. She watched the young woman run after Zavala, then turned a raised brow on Cayde.

He threw up his hands. “ _What._ ”

 

* * *

 

“So, that could have gone worse.”

Ikora only gave Cayde the barest sideways glance. The Exo strolled by her side, one hand hooked in his belt, the other supporting a roll of bedding and standard clothing slung over his shoulder.

“‘Baby Blue’?” she said incredulously. Zavala and Cayde were different enough that she had expected them to grate on each other eventually, but on their first introduction? But then, she hadn't predicted how raw Zavala would still be over Andal. That worried her.

“Okay, so, maybe I get a bit… snippy. When I'm feeling defensive.”

That got Ikora’s attention, and she stared at Cayde with her head tilted slightly. “Defensive? You hardly seem the sort to be bothered by something as slight as staring.”

“Oh no, I'm definitely not! Staring is just… it's water off my back.” Cayde rolled his shoulders, gaze darting around restlessly in every direction except towards Ikora. “Except, y’know, when it's from someone I'd actually like to get to know.”

There was something so earnestly awkward and embarrassed in Cayde's fidgeting that Ikora felt her mood softening in spite of herself.

“Someone you'd ‘like to get to know’,” she repeated, more a prompt than a question.

“Sure,” Cayde said, fingers picking at his belt now. “Why not? I mean, you like him. Andal liked him. He can't be all that bad. Why wouldn't I want to get to know Zavala?”

Ikora waited patiently for the other shoe to drop. She'd already started to get the feel for when Cayde was being legitimately reticent and when he was bursting to let something out.

It only took two paces worth of silence before Cayde was skipping ahead and turning to face Ikora while he walked backwards.

“Okay, so, I know I cocked that up. I admit it. I said a dumb thing. Happens more than you might think-” Ikora’s lips twitched at that. “-but no one warned me that Titan Jr. got hot?”

A startled laugh bubbled from Ikora’s throat, followed by an incredulous, “Cayde!”

“No, I'm serious! I was really taken off guard!” Cayde almost dropped his bundle as he waved in emphasis. “Like, I don't know if it was just the posters, but I always thought he had that sort of blandly handsome golden boy look? Which I guess some people are into that, but yeah, boring, whatever.”

Tilting his head back, Cayde slapped a hand to his forehead, narrowly avoiding his horn. “But now! He's like… he's like fine wine or cheese or something. Aged to perfection. He's got that sort of grizzled warrior vibe. That edge!”

Ikora’s laughter echoed down the hallway as she continued to escort her new student to his room. It was accompanied by Cayde's protests.

“No listen! Ikora, I am _serious…_!”


	4. I Dig My Hole...

> _[Camera One: A man wearing a circuit suit and a modified Pons headset is strapped into a lightweight control cradle.]_
> 
> _[Camera Two: A service frame. It has been modified with a humanoid face, including an articulated mouth and bicameral eyes.]_
> 
> _[C1: The man strides in place, the cradle keeping him from moving forward.[_
> 
> _[C2: The frame strides across the room, movements matching that of the man precisely.]_
> 
> _[Off-camera Voice:] Okay, I want you to stop an arm’s length from the wall._
> 
> _[C1 &C2: The frame approaches the wall. Both it and the man slow in concert. They both reach out. The man’s knuckles tap air. The frames knuckles knock against the wall.]_
> 
> _[Off-camera Voice:] Perfect! You’ve mastered the walk cycle._
> 
> _[C1 &C2: Both figures speak with overlapping voices.] Yeah, those last adjustments definitely fixed the equilibrium. No more massive vertigo every time I take a step._
> 
> _[Off-camera Voice:] Okay, that’s all the tests for the day. Let’s go celebrate your first successful walk by getting so drunk you can’t anymore. Shutting down the neural bridge in three, two, one…_
> 
> _[C1: The man tugs off his headset and gives the camera a thumbs up before turning to leave.]_
> 
> _[C2: The frame taps its fingers against its thigh, then looks up at the camera.] Monique? What’s going on with that Pons?_
> 
> _Neural Echo: First Observation_
> 
> _Clovis Bray: Leaked Recordings_
> 
> _Iron Banner Memorial Archives_

 

_Year 29 - Two Months to Doomsday_

 

Cayde had been around primarily Exos long enough that he'd forgotten how boring night could be. Exos didn't sleep. Heck, they barely needed rest. The closest thing to sleeping he'd experienced since getting his mind dumped in a robot body was the neural backups, and those? Those kind of sucked. Without a mandatory backup schedule like there was on the Wall, Cayde wasn't in a hurry to initiate his next one.

Which left him with a lot of hours when the majority of people on the base were asleep. He'd already arranged his room. It huge step up from the workers’ barracks, even if there was barely room for the bed, dresser, desk, _and_ navigable floor space. Then he'd flipped through the few worn paperbacks he'd brought with him, but he honestly wasn't in the mood for trashy romance. So he'd put the books down and rearranged the room. Not feeling like redecorating a third time, and lacking anything else to do in the limited confines of his small room, Cayde chose to wander instead.

And there were certainly a lot of places to wander in a Shatterdome. The base was eerie at night, with few people awake and and many of the lights dimmed or off altogether. Cayde liked it. It had character.

He tried most of the doors he passed, testing which ones did and didn't open to a flash of his security fob. Lots of ‘No Cayde’ zones, not unexpected given his recent arrival. Of course a few electronic locks wouldn't keep him out if he wanted in, but he planned to behave. For now. For Ikora. And just maybe because he wanted to get on Zavala's good side. Maybe.

There were janitorial frames out and about, cleaning up after the messes of humanity. Cayde pushed their simple conversational skills to their limits, assured them all they were doing a fine job, helped one find her broom, moved along.

Around three in the morning he got dragged into a few rounds of cards with a trio of security guards. No money exchanged, but Cayde did win some extra desserts. It was as good a currency as any.

Then he found the the Museum. He spent the rest of the night there.

The hallways started filling up again after six. All in all, a pretty productive night for him. As he sauntered back to his room to prepare for the day, he was feeling more assured about actually having a place here. That maybe something good would come of this second chance.

Feeling good was such a trap.

“Get a load of this tin can, all dressed up like a real boy.”

“Aw, it thinks it's people.”

Years ago a wise Exo had tried to teach him the valuable lesson of ‘just walk away, Cayde’. It was a good lesson! One that would have saved him a lot of trouble if he'd actually, y’know, _learned_ it. But finally, seven years after he last saw that sweet, sensible metal man, he thought he might have finally mastered the ultimate power move that was ‘just walk away, Cayde’.

Instead of giving a couple of chuckling knuckleheads the time of day, he just… kept on walking. He let the words wash over him like car exhaust on the wind, carried away to pollute someone else's life. How proud his old companion would be to see him now. He, Cayde, a bastion of non-confrontation.

Then a chunky meat hand slapped against his shoulder, bringing him to a screeching halt.

“Hey Pinocchio. How about you get a broom, my room needs sweeping.”

Okay. Fuck zen.

“I'm sorry,” Cayde said, taking a large step back to get the man’s hand off of him. Eyeing him up, he mentally labelled him Chump Prime. “Are you confusing me with a frame?”

“There's a difference?” the other human--now dubbed Chump Magnus--said, making her companion laugh.

“Oh yes!” Cayde said, sounding much more helpful than he felt. “You see, Exos are humans and frames aren't.” His hands chopped left and right in emphasis. “But I can see how such subtle differences might slip past a pair of your obvious intellect.”

Oooh, double scowl! He had to give them some credit for being smart enough to immediately parse that insult, though. He'd dealt with assholes who weren't.

“You think you're real funny, huh?” Chump Prime said, stepping further into Cayde's personal space. Chump Magnus was close behind him.

“Oh, I know I'm hilarious,” Cayde answered, as bright and cheery as a field full of flowers.

Scowling, Chump Prime looked him up and down. “You're too shabby to be one of them rich old fucks who think they're too important to die like the rest of us.” For a second the pair looked sour enough Cayde thought they might actually spit on the floor. “That makes you one of the pathetic fucks crawling the Wall.”

“Can you imagine,” Chump Magnus said, “being so afraid of death you're willing to sell your body and soul just to pretend you're immortal.”

“You Exos are the worst kind of snivelling cowards. You really think that shitty wall and a tin can shell are going to save you? Hah! The Kaiju would be doing you all a favor ending your miserable little mockeries of lives.”

“Cowards,” Cayde stated, voice flat and not at all playful anymore.

The Chump Duo laughed at his sudden seriousness. “What, did we hit a nerve?”

“More like flipped a breaker!”

Cayde let the lights of his eyes dim. He knew the people on the Wall. He'd been one of them for over a decade. They were humans, people, same as everyone else. With hopes and dreams and families. And they were sure as hell more complicated than a pair of assholes calling them cowards.

_“Look, it's my little girl.”_

_The group of Exos huddles around a small fire. They don't need the heat. Chill doesn't affect their kind until it’s cold enough to make their fluids run sluggish. And they don't need the light. Even in the night, the Wall is kept bright as day by masses of spotlights. When most of your workers don't sleep, it only makes sense to keep things running 24/7._

_No, they don't_ need _the light and the heat, but the part of them that reminds them they’re still human finds comfort in the ancient ritual of sitting together around a campfire._

_Dutifully, the circle passes around a worn smartphone. There's a photo on it: a young girl in a party hat. Cake in front of her, children crowding into the frame on either side. A woman and a man behind her, each with a hand on her shoulders._

_“She turned twelve today,” her father says, pride clear in his voice. The phone makes its way back to him. “Been five years since I seen her in person. Not since I got enough money together to move her n’ her mom off the coast.”_

_The circle nods in understanding, and the father continues, “Y’know, she remarried. My wife. Well, not my wife anymore. Didn't even need a divorce. Guess going Exo legally counts as a death to part you, if you can't afford to rent freezer space.”_

_Hunching over, the father rests his face in his hands. “I’m not even mad at her. Even when I get off this Wall, what do I have to offer anymore? I'm not the man she married. I'm hardly a man at all. Don't even have_ skin _…” His neighbours in the ring both rest hands on his shoulders. “It was all worth it, though. Just to put a few hundred more miles between my little girl and those monsters.”_

_Everyone is quiet for a long moment, just listening to the crackle of the fire, everyone idly feeding it twigs and bits of waste paper. Then another picks up the thread._

_“The Wall isn't any place for a human,” she says. “Not a meat one. I tried it. Not even a month in and a falling beam crushed all the major organs below my ribs.”_

_The circle hisses in sympathy._

_“I had two options: take C.B.’s Exo offer or have them tell my ma that her last remaining daughter died on the Wall. It wasn't much of a choice.” The daughter scrubs at her eyes, a reflex from a time she could cry tears. “I'm all she's got left. Dad died in one of the first attacks. The Wall took my older sister not long after construction started. Ma couldn't take it if she knew her other girl was working this death trap, but there aren't enough jobs to go around and the pay is good… So I just didn't tell her.”_

_The daughter takes a swig of cheap whiskey. Another old habit. They can't get drunk, but the burn of alcohol on the palate is pleasant. Reminds them they can still feel. She passes the bottle off. “She doesn't know I'm an Exo. I don't even know if she'd believe I'm still her daughter if she did.”_

_The silence again. The whiskey makes a round. Stops with the next speaker._

_“I was… I was just afraid to die,” she says, voice small and soft. Her face is too smooth for her to be more than a few weeks into this body. “It was… I had leukemia. For years. But I was down to months. Weeks. I hurt so bad, but all the things I'd never get to do hurt more.”_

_The girl plays with the bottle in her hands, then takes a swig before passing it on. “I'm not old enough to drink, but nobody cares about those laws when you're a robot.” Her voice gives a little hitch of static, not a laugh, not a sob, and one of her neighbours lets her rest her head on their shoulder. “I wanted to go to college. I wanted to kiss a boy.”_

_It goes like that. Strangers sharing their common pain. Dividing the burden between them._

_“Me?” Cayde says, when he's the only one left. “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”_

The lights in his eyes flicked back on. He'd been part of countless circles like that across hundreds of build sites. The details of the stories varied, but at their heart, around the globe, they were all the same. These assholes could say what they wanted about Cayde, but like hell was he going to let them belittle other Exos like that.

“Hey, why don't you clench that pickerel anus you call a mouth before you can spew any more shit about things you know nothing about.”

Heh, that didn't go over well. Chump Prime got up in Cayde's face.

“Listen here, you empty metal husk,” Chump Prime snapped, and Cayde leaned away to avoid a spray of spittle. “I'm a Guardian, and you're just a glorified piece of construction equipment. Which makes me worth ten- no, a _hundred_ of you.”

“You sure about that, champ?” Cayde said, voice smooth and dangerous. “Because that little badge sewed to your jackets? That tells me you've never actually been in a Jaeger. You're just recruits. Hopefuls.”

Chump Prime flushed red, but Cayde forged on, refusing to give them time to speak. “I also know there are empty Jaegers on this base that you _could_ be piloting. But you're not. Know what that means?” He leaned back towards Chump Prime. “Commander Forge doesn't think you're good enough.”

“Fuck you!” Chump Magnus pushed past her pal to shove at Cayde. He danced out of range.

“Meanwhile, me? I'm here for special training, from the Warlock Vanguard herself!” He spread his arms wide. “Guardian 2.0, baby. Better, faster, stronger, and here to pick up your slack.”

“I've had enough outta you!”

Cayde didn't dodge this time when Chump Magnus tried to push him. It had all the effect of shoving a brick wall, and the surprise of it made her back off. She left just enough room for Chump Prime to move in and grab a handful of Cayde's scarf. His fist was raised like he might throw a punch.

Cayde's eyes narrowed. That was _Andal’s_ scarf.

“You _really_ don't know anything about Exo’s do you?” Cayde said. Then he had his own grip on Chump Prime’s shirt and he used it to swing the man around and pin him against wall. Just high enough to make his toes dangle in the air. “Funny thing about construction equipment is that it's built to do jobs humans are too weak to.”

“Hey!” Chump Magnus shouted, tugging ineffectively at Cayde's arm.

He ignored her, gaze fixed on Chump Prime’s wide eyes. “Alright, you said some very mean things about some very nice people. And then you rumpled my scarf. So why don't you apologize so I can let you down?”

“Go fuck yourself, tin man!”

“Wow, I'd love to, but see Clovis Bray decided I didn't actually need a-”

“What is going on here?!”

Oh. That was a new voice on the scene. A new voice that Cayde could easily match to a blue face. A very handsome and rugged blue face. Internally he cringed. So much for making a better impression. Externally, he set Chump Prime back on his feet and turned to wave at Zavala, casual as could be. “Hey Commander Zee, what's up?”

Cayde was never going to be personally gifted with any expression other than Zavala's Serious and Disapproving Face, was he? Which was a shame, because he probably had a beautiful smile.

He played it cool as that piercing blue gaze shifted from person to person, refusing to feel guilty for reacting to the Chump Duo. The recruits, however, were at attention, saluting sharply, and Cayde could practically hear them sweating in their boots.

“Mister Cybulski. Miz Bouliane.” Zavala finished surveying the scene and his eyes settled on the Exo in the middle. “Mister Reynolds.”

“Cayde, actually,” he said, slipping in the correction.

Zavala responded by frowning harder and raising a brow, clearly waiting for someone to provide him an explanation.

Cayde supposed he could tell the truth. Or let the Double Chumps scramble to cover their asses. But nah. He was perfectly capable of handling himself without tattling on racist washups. Plus, they'd really hate it if they owed him one, and that would be hilarious.

He slung his arms over each recruit’s shoulders, silently daring them to object violently right now. “Hey, me and my buds here were just having a friendly conversation about Exo capabilities. Cybulski here wanted a hands-on demonstration.”

“Is that so,” Zavala said, voice flat.

Whatever. Cayde didn't need the man to believe him. He clapped his ‘buds’ on the shoulders. “Anyway, I've got things to do, so I'll just see you all later! Ciao.”

He gave Zavala a little mock salute, then resumed his initial quest to just walk away. When he was stopped by a strong hand gripping his forearm, Cayde was about ready to scream. Or punch someone. Instead, he went stiff and turned his head to meet Zavala's eyes. He gave a pointed glance down, then back up to luminescent blue. The Commander seemed to get his point, because he quickly released Cayde's arm.

“Mister Reynolds,” Zavala started, making him bristle. “I have allowed you to stay on this base out of respect for Vanguard Rey. As you are her responsibility, please keep in mind that your behaviour reflects upon her. Additionally, if I ever decide that you are interfering with the regular operation of this Shatterdome, I will personally escort you to the door. Are we clear?”

“As crystal, Big Blue,” Cayde said, jaw tense. “Also? It's _Cayde._ ”

He set off at a brisk pace, deeply disinterested in being further scolded like a child. Ugh, Zavala wasn't even born yet when the first Kaiju hit! Cayde was too damn old to be schooled by him.

He was just rounding a corner when Zavala's voice rang out again, and he found himself slowing.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Miz Bouliane!”

Well. At least he wasn't the only one getting a verbal spanking. In the adjoining corridor he settled his back against the wall for a listen.

“You and Mister Cybulski are to report to Fightmaster Shaxx at 20:00 hours so he can give you an encore of his speech on how we are all one people united against a common foe.” Zavala's voice dropped lower, and Cayde strained to hear. “And let me make one thing clear: if I ever hear that you have been engaging in bigoted behaviour, _on or off this base_ , you will be ejected from the Jaeger Service faster than you can say ‘tin man’.”

It was so very tempting to peek around the corner and get a look at the recruits’ faces as they shouted ‘sir, yes, sir!’, but Cayde decided that'd be pushing his luck. Probably bad for the Commander to catch him snooping.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he continued on his way, voice rising in a beautifully simulated whistle.

 

* * *

 

“You're in high spirits this morning,” Ikora said as Cayde strolled up to her. She had already set out both their little yoga mat things and was kneeling in her characteristic pose of meditation.

“It's only because I have such a fine view,” Cayde said. The little balcony faced the ocean, which was nice because he knew the other direction faced the endless eyesore of the Wall. He and Ikora were alone at the moment, but a bench and a couple picnic tables scattered around marked it as a public space. He turned his attention to Ikora, settling on the mat in front of her in a lazy sprawl. “The water ain't half bad either.”

Ikora’s mouth twitched with a suppressed smile and Cayde awarded himself a point. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Cayde.”

“Oh, I dunno about that,” he said. “It got me one of those cute little smiles of yours, didn't it?”

There it is, a proper small smile, unsuppressed. Two points. Ikora’s eyes slid open, and she glanced down at the handheld stationed on the mat near her knee. She gave a small shake of her head. “How is it that you can have an entire night to prepare and still manage to arrive almost ten minutes late?”

“It's a skill,” Cayde says. “Not everyone can master the fine art of being fashionably late.”

Ikora rolled her eyes, but her smile grew. Three points! She lifted her arms, holding them out to him with her wrists facing up. “Come on then, let's get started.”

Performing his best dramatic sigh, Cayde reached out to carefully clasp each slim wrist, his thumbs settling over Ikora’s pulse points.

“We're seriously still on this meditation thing?” he asked, his pout going unseen as his companion closed her eyes again.

“Yes. Every day at seven o’clock _sharp_.” Her expression evened, relaxed and neutral despite Cayde's groans of protest. “A routine will do you good. Now hush.”

He couldn't resist a final sigh, this one drawn out far longer than one made with lungs could be. Then Cayde shut off his visual input and focused on Ikora. They'd only been able to try this a couple of times on the trip to Hong Kong, but he was already finding it easier to settle.

Ikora breathed, slow and steady. In, hold, out, hold, in… Cayde couldn't match her breathing. He was missing the appropriate organs. But he could feel the pace of her heartbeat beneath the pads of his thumbs, and if he concentrated he could make out rhythm of the mysterious mechanism somewhere in his chest that he'd taken to calling his ‘ticker’.

_It could very well be intended to replicate a heartbeat,_ Ikora had told him when he'd mentioned it during a quick overnight stop in a motel. _Perhaps to ease the dysphoria of being in a mechanical body. Or to help simulate certain emotions, such as a fear response._ Or the feeling of being suddenly and aggressively attracted to someone, apparently, given the way it had stuttered when he met Zavala the other day.

Honestly, it didn't really matter what it was there for. What mattered was that as Ikora slowed her pulse, Cayde could--with enough concentration--get the soft ticking in his chest to sync up with her.

“Don't try to clear your mind,” Ikora said, her voice a soothing murmur, quiet enough to barely register in Cayde's conscious hearing. “Instead, think of your mind as a river. Your thoughts are fish in the current. You can notice them, glance at them, but you can't catch them, hold them. They flow away with the river and others take their place. They are transient.”

A thought, one he'd had before, when they first tried this: coming from anyone else, this would probably sound ridiculous. But somehow Ikora made it work. He let that thought go.

Another: Ikora probably had a really nice singing voice. But he didn't pause to imagine it. The thought flowed away.

And: honestly, she could probably make a killing on one of those sexy phone hotlines-- No, nope, stopping that thought right there. Flow along little fishie.

\--Zavala probably could too, with that rumbly voice of his--

“Dammit,” Cayde muttered, his focused lack of focus broken.

“Don't judge your thoughts either,” Ikora said, a hint of amusement in her voice. Four points?

She walked him through the first part of their meditation again, and Cayde did his best to keep his focus on Ikora and his ticker, and let his constant stream of thoughts just churn away in the background.

“Now,” Ikora said, her voice curling through his thoughts like dark smoke. “Without actually moving, visualize spreading your fingers…”

 

* * *

 

_“This may come as a surprise,” Ikora says, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “But you're actually very good at Drifting.”_

_Cayde is busy watching the Wall slowly fade away into the distance in the side view mirror, but he has to take a break just to give Ikora an incredulous look. “I never lasted more than ten minutes in a combat simulation before falling out of alignment.”_

_“Yes, but you also never failed to initiate your side of a neural handshake.”_

_Metal lips part and yellow lights flash in his throat without accompanying words. He squints at Ikora. Finally, he crosses his arms, leans back as far as his seat will go, and props a boot on the dashboard. “Okay, so what?”_

_“Most neural handshakes, if they fail, do so at the beginning, for two major reasons: the modesty reflex-”_

_“_ Heh, _” Cayde says, more to himself than Ikora. “Like I care if someone likes to be spanked or stole a bike when they were twelve.”_

_“-Or because they can't resist chasing R.A.B.I.T.s,” Ikora continues. “I've reviewed all your simulator logs, and you had neither of those issues. Uncharacteristically, your Drifts only failed when you began to move.”_

_“I mean, yeah,” Cayde says. “I coulda told you that. But that doesn't explain why.”_

_“My guess--and I assure it, this is a very well-educated guess--is that you're simply too impulsive.”_

_Cayde spreads one of his hands in a silent ‘what the hell?’ He's actually going to wait for her to clarify before providing witty commentary._

_“You act before you think,” Ikora says._

_“Um, I thought that was a good thing? Y’know combat reflexes and stuff?”_

_“As a single fighter, yes, it can be an asset. But that level of impulsiveness is antithetical to a nascent Drift.”_

_“Try that again, but with fewer syllables.”_

_Ikora is silent for a moment, presumably translating what she wants to say from Serious Academic to Layman. Her fingers strum once against the steering wheel._

_“An experienced pair of pilots share a mental vocabulary. They can intuit and anticipate their partner at the speed of thought. At that level of synchronization, reflex works. But between inexperienced recruits…”_

_“I know all this,” Cayde says, a hint of frustration escaping him. “That's why they get recruits to talk out what they're doing. So they can learn how their buddy thinks. I_ did _that.”_

_“You_ tried _that,” Ikora corrects. “But your movements always started before it registered in your surface mind, and there was a further delay between realizing what you were doing and informing your partner. By the time your Drift partner started to focus on your first action, you'd already moved onto the next. Within a single movement, you would fall out of sync, and the resulting strain and confusion would only push your minds further out of alignment until the neural handshake broke apart.”_

_Cayde stares blankly at the road ahead, looking but not seeing as he processes Ikora’s explanation. He mumbles, “... I always got these nasty migraines after Drifting.”_

_Ikora nods as if she expected as much. “When a pair of minds aren't working in concert, the neural load becomes unbalanced. And the brunt of it falls on the person trying to move ahead.”_

_“So, what, I just needed to slow down? Learn to focus better? Simple as that?”_

_“Simple isn't always easy,” Ikora says._

_“Yeah, but it's doable, right? You wouldn't be here if you didn't think I was fixable.”_

_“Yes,” Ikora says, hesitation creeping into her tone. “I've drafted a training regimen that should teach you-”_

_“Does it involve throwing me at a parade of different recruits and hoping one of them sticks?” Cayde sounds calm. Which is funny, because he feels a lot like he just fell headlong into a frozen lake. “Until you run out of new recruits?”_

_“... No,” Ikora says voice soft._

_Cayde slowly curls in on himself, feet dropping back to the floor as he leans far enough forward to rest his head on the dashboard. He covers his metal scalp with gloved hands. “Nobody ever told me.”_

_If they'd told him he could have fixed it. He could've been a proper Jaeger pilot. He could have been_ Andal’s _co-pilot…_

_“Your case is… somewhat unique,” Ikora says, laying out each word carefully like she's treading on the same thin ice Cayde had just crashed through. “They may not have realized…”_

_“_ You _realized,” Cayde says, arms wrapping over his head._

_“Well,” Ikora says, then trails off. Seconds tick by slowly. Cayde can count them by the rapid ticking in his chest. Finally, “I suppose I was actually looking.”_

_Cayde laughs, even though it isn't the least bit funny._


End file.
